


Sine and cosine

by beloniika



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 23:03:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3706929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beloniika/pseuds/beloniika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They started as asymptotes</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sine and cosine

**Author's Note:**

> Despite the title and summary, this has nothing to do with math, oops.

Every day, between 5pm and 6pm, a young man would sit on the grass and play his guitar. Most of his repertoire consisted of cover songs and he was always glad to hear the impromptu audience applaud him afterwards, even more so when he threw in his self composed songs and the passersby enjoyed them as well. He never expected people to leave little offers for his performances, though, he was genuinely surprised every single time he found coins and crumpled bills (and candies) in his guitar case. ****

It was by chance that one day he looked up, singing along to the latest song he composed, when he spotted from the corner of the eye a tall and blond figure walking along the gravel path, a permanent scowl not once leaving his face as he walked all through the park. A smile crept on the guitarist’s lips when he saw the stranger finally break in a lively grin while scratching a content German shepherd dog.

He pretended to ignore the beat his heart skipped at the sight.

*°*°*

A week prior to the beginning of autumn, a handful of minutes before 6 in the afternoon, a young man would make his first appearance in the park of this foreign city, skirting the screaming and running children, bending down to pet the occasional dog that approached him. He would eventually find a free bench and take a seat, fishing a book from his worn out messenger bag and start reading, allowing nothing to distract him nor ruin his moment of relax.

It was by chance that one day he found a free seat opposite a little crowd standing across the pathway. It was only then that he allowed himself to listen to his surroundings, so immersed in his thoughts he was.

A mellow melody came from behind the human barrier, a gentle but clear voice accompanying the strumming of a guitar. He was about to start reading when the people in front of him erupted in an enthusiastic applause, that almost overcame the goodbye of the soft spoken musician.

He pretended not to be upset about being unable to listen to the guitarist playing for a little longer.

*°*°*

Yixing would be lying if he said he hadn’t been inconspicuously scanning the faces in front of him in hopes of seeing a blond tuft of hair, the week following the first spotting.

His hour was running short, that day, and still no sight of the tall man that caught his attention not long ago, neither among the little crowd he often seemed to be able to lure nor around the park, strolling relaxedly or reading at some bench.

He wanted to stretch his usual “concert time” to a bit past six, really, but he couldn’t be late for work -he lost count of how many times he got told off, but at least he was affable with the patrons and good at serving, managing to keep his spacing out at minimum, and that was what he grasped at to keep his job.

With a soft sigh, he zipped the guitar case shut and heaved it to his shoulder, humming a melody as he walked away.

*°*°*

Yifan mentally cursed his landlord for ambushing him and talking his ear off about the rules concerning noises at decent hours and whatnot, when he was possibly the only one in the whole building who respected them. The same couldn’t be said about his neighbor, who played drums and laughed loudly and rapped in the shower, his deep voice resonating through the paper thin walls.

Yifan didn’t miss a single performance of the stranger’s acoustic session for the past week--well, maybe he wasn’t there for the whole duration of it, but he made a point of going to the park every day around the same time since his discovery--but because of his landlord he was running late. Without the certainty of meeting the dark haired guy, he ran to the park, hoping against hope to be able to hear at least one song.

There he was, the slender musician, at his usual spot in the central flowerbed, pocketing money and strapping his guitar back in its case before heading to the opposite side of the park.

Yifan didn’t even bother to keep his voice low as he bit out a ‘fuck’, turning on his heels to go back to his apartment.

*°*°*

“Yixing!” the owner of the chinese restaurant stage-whispered as soon as the young man stepped inside and hurriedly yet carefully took the guitar off his shoulder, “You’re late again.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Yixing apologized, bowing non-stop while speedwalking to the locker room and changing into the total black attire of the waiters.

“You’re lucky the customers love you,” the older man commented offhandedly when Yixing resurfaced. He shook his head and headed back to the kitchen to bark at someone else.

Yixing was too busy bowing at his boss’ retreating figure and knotting the small black apron behind his back, he didn’t notice he bumped into someone. He spun quickly, coming in front of a tall, foreign client.

“Pardon me, sir! Welcome to The Red-- Oh.”

*°*°*

Bored of mingling around his apartment and alerted by his rumbling stomach, Yifan got up from the couch and went outside again, closing the noises of various nature coming from his neighbor’s flat behind himself.

Not feeling like eating the umpteenth pack of ramyun nor bothering to cook, he joined the bustle of people who had his same idea and went out for a bite. Hands deep in his biker jacket’s pockets, he strolled mindlessly down the streets following his stomach’s desires until he came across a chinese restaurant, that reminded him of home. Nostalgia overwhelmed him, suddenly making him crave for some char siu and an overflowing bowl of wonton soup.

This little corner of China in Seoul had a polished homely feeling, just like his mother. Too busy looking around and smelling familiar dishes, Yifan didn’t notice he was walking straight into someone--or that someone was walking backwards right into him.

“Oh, sorry,” Yifan started, only to have his soft apology drowned by the practiced welcoming mantra of the waiter, who had to look up, up, up.

“Pardon me, sir! Welcome to The Red-- Oh.”

 _Oh_ , indeed.

*°*°*

Yixing found himself orbiting around the familiar stranger more than a waiter is requested to, risking his boss’ wrath the whole evening and being fired once and for all. They waltzed around each other for the whole duration of his dinner, exchanging glances across the room and awkward conversation starters between a dish and another.

When it was time to bring the check, Yixing was thrumming in anticipation of meeting again: his guts were telling him the other man would come back, and not only for the delicious food.

He bowed and thanked the handsome guy, who reciprocated the greeting before walking back into the always busy street. Once the familiar blond hair was out of sight, Yixing walked to the table to retrieve the check and pocket the generous tip; he chuckled when he glanced at the strip of paper.

*°*°*

Yifan walked out of the restaurant with a full belly, both for the delicious food he ate (he’s definitely coming back) and for the tension caused by the first-hand embarrassment of making the cheesy idea that had been swirling around in his head the whole evening a reality.

What made him think that writing his name and phone number in the blank space for the tip was a good idea?

He was hanging his jacket, having just returned home after taking the long way to stop remembering the night’s events, how he made a fool of himself, and imagining a derisive snarl contorting the waiter’s pretty features, when he received a message.

> _Hey :) will I see you  
>  _ _at the park, tomorrow?_

His heart was beating so fast, it drowned the loud gaming noises coming from the other side of the wall.


End file.
